


Jealous for the Wrong Reasons

by DoubledDoors



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, M/M, the post is hilarious so naturally i had to get way too real with it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-22
Packaged: 2019-08-05 22:33:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16376249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubledDoors/pseuds/DoubledDoors
Summary: Willow and Charlie have been in a happy relationship for some time now, and Maxwell is starting to realize something about himself.





	Jealous for the Wrong Reasons

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a post by @/cactiaremymuses on Tumblr. 
> 
> https://cactiaremymuses.tumblr.com/post/179296796007/when-i-play-ds-with-abiggaynerd-srry-maxwell

It was pretty clear to anyone within a ten mile radius of camp that Willow and Charlie were deeply in love to say the least. That’s what Wickerbottom told the children whenever they had the unfortunate timing of running into the two women during an intimate moment. Everyone else was keenly aware of the passion between the two and no one was bothered by it, since they were polite enough to spend their nights in the back of the camp by the edge of the darkness. Willow had explained to a panicked Wilson on more than one occasion that it was the only way for Charlie to touch her, otherwise the light of the campfire would burn the shadow queen.

Little to say, all was well, no one paid them any more mind than another, and the days wore on. If anything, everyone was grateful for the arrangement, it put Willow in a better mood and proved to make Charlie considerably less aggressive. No conflict was always a good deal, and the camp encouraged anything that would lessen stress.

However, Maxwell had gotten the short end of the stick. Again. Seeing his questionable past as a kidnapper and petty liar, his tent was also in the far back near the edge of the fire’s glow. Away from the others, but unfortunately much closer to Willow’s tent than he wanted to be. Naturally, this meant whenever Willow and Charlie decided some womanly bonding was in order, he got an earful of it. Two earfuls, in fact. At first it had made him squirm uncomfortably, and still did to an extent—he usually opted for burrowing into his blankets until all he could hear was his old heart struggling to keep him alive.

Willow, being the woman she was and not giving a damn about societal norms, teased Maxwell endlessly about it, asking the next morning if he slept alright while throwing him a smug grin. Maxwell didn’t mind, per say, it wasn’t as though they were the only two getting it on in the camp, but he did really, really wish they’d picked a different spot to do it. It was one of the most awkward situations Maxwell had ever found himself in, especially with two women! He felt as though he were treading on some sort of sacred grounds and soiling the whole damn lot.

A long, breathless moan of “Ooh, Charlie!” promptly brought him out of his thoughts and into the present day. Or present night, as it were. Maxwell found himself awkwardly twiddling his thumbs and staring at the roof of his tent—he’d been trying to ignore...those sounds, but yet…

A pesky emotion had somehow weaseled its way through Maxwell’s cold exterior and lodged itself right by his chest, were it ached something awful. At first, he had chalked it up to jealousy of Charlie, that she’d found someone worth her while and hadn’t spared him a second glance. But as time wore on, he didn’t feel any hatred nor spite. He didn’t mind Charlie’s love with Willow, and if the two were happy, well, so be it. No, a much trickier feeling had hooked him, barbed metal and all, and the longer he gazed at the tan cloth above him, the more his mental resolve crumbled.

Finally, he let his mind wander to the situation at hand, were he rarely let it go. Willow and Charlie, two women, who both happened to like women, and happened to enjoy each other like the finest of wines. All good and fine, the absurdity of the coincidence was reason to celebrate if anything—they weren’t alone any longer. But he, Maxwell. Well.

A sad sigh escaped him as his head inevitably went where it always did during these nights—he and Wilson. Their hands together tightly, honestly, just as Charlie and Willow’s so often were. Stolen kisses around the campfire during dinnertime, too caught up in each other to care what anyone else thought. Lost in throes of passion, each completely and utterly engulfed by the other, wanton sounds escaping into the night. A lot of “if onlys” if he were being honest with himself.

It’d been a long time since Maxwell has realized his deep yearning for Wilson, so deep it was practically engraved in his skin. Years and years of seasons had passed by, and Maxwell still found himself fondly watching Wilson talk when no one could see his face. But, he’d never made an advancement on the scruffy scientist and knew he never would. Wilson was most likely attracted to women, and well, if he wasn’t, he certainly was close to that Wes fellow. It was all to say Maxwell certainly had an ego, but he wasn’t blinded enough by it to think he’d ever have a lick of a chance with Wilson.

So instead, Maxwell stayed laying in his tent, alone and miserable about it. He pictured instead of the bleak night, Wilson in his lap the same way Willow was in Charlie’s, the scientist squeezing out of him sounds he didn't know he could make. Maxwell of course would pass out first, exhausted from the mind-numbing aftershocks of animal nature, and Wilson would hold him until they would have to get up the next morning.

All was well in Maxwell’s head, so it was there he chose to stay.


End file.
